


Burning Up (Fire)

by Je_Suis_Une_Pomme



Series: Prompts and Requests [5]
Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: First Time, Fluff, M/M, PWP, Second Time, post-sex anxiety, trektober2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:20:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26798722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Je_Suis_Une_Pomme/pseuds/Je_Suis_Une_Pomme
Summary: Sex with Spock was nothing like how Jim had imagined it.Trektober2020: First Time
Relationships: James T. Kirk/Spock
Series: Prompts and Requests [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1892623
Comments: 14
Kudos: 228
Collections: Trektober 2020





	Burning Up (Fire)

**Author's Note:**

> Listen, smut is not a skill I practice... I'm not entirely happy with it, but I wanted to attempt in order to fulfill the second day of Trektober: first time.
> 
> Title stolen from the BTS song of the same title - I was listening to them while I wrote (I've accidentally become a fan thanks to The Roommate, whoops!)

_ Trektober2020: First Time _

Sex with Spock was nothing like how he had imagined it. 

In his fantasies, he'd dreamed up light, shy kisses, gentle touches, and breathless gasps. He'd thought that he would lead them both through soft exploration, taking their time with a slow seduction that resulted in contented sighs and a lazy entanglement of limbs. He imagined their hands intertwined and  _ cuddling _ , for God's sake. Perhaps there would be a second encounter, just as slow as the first, unhurried and untroubled, filled with whispered declarations of love before falling into serene sleep. In the morning, he dreamed of syrupy pancakes with tea and coffee in bed as the sun slowly rose and coloured the room with golden light and warmth. 

What he got was a commanding presence and his clothing being torn from his body. What he got was an erection that sprang up so fast he was dizzy with it. What he got was impassioned kisses from a hot mouth that bit and licked its way down the column of his neck, sucking a trail of bruises in its wake; he got fingers that knew exactly where and how to press to turn him into nothing more than a vessel for dragged-out moans and shaking limbs. 

He had not imagined being so thoroughly fucked into the mattress that he could no longer remember how to pronounce his own name. 

With his chest still heaving, skin still hot and damp with sweat, he only had enough energy to turn his head to look at the man that had flopped down next to him.

His hair was a mess. 

"Wow," he said then gasped for air, drinking it in like he'd been holding his breath for an extended period of time - perhaps he had been.

Spock said nothing, of course, but a deep noise rumbled from the back of his throat and he reached out to drag Jim onto his chest. 

Jim might have complained that he was covered in - well,  _ everything _ , filthy, but Spock didn't seem to mind and the hollow of his shoulder was just the right space for Jim's head and unbelievably comfortable.

He could have drifted into a satisfied sleep… had his mind not been a hurricane of thoughts.

Had he allowed himself to imagine a scenario in which he and Spock had sex, it was never on some planet he couldn't remember the name of at the moment, in a stately suite during a conference on interplanetary security. He also always imagined significantly less clothing between them. As it was, his pants were caught ‘round his knees and his shirt, though mostly split apart, only made it as high as his armpits. Spock was almost entirely dressed still, panting beneath him and staring up at the ceiling. 

Jim could practically feel the waves of anxiety rolling off him. 

There were no known words in the universe that could calm the Vulcan; instead, Jim struggled out of the remnants of his shirt, wiping down his front in half an effort to clean himself, and wiggled the rest of the way out of his pants, kicking them to the floor. Then, he turned and threw a leg over one of Spock’s thighs, sliding a hand around his middle, working it up under the fabric of his dress uniform and splaying his fingers across his ribs. He nuzzled his head into the hollow of Spock's shoulder, wiggling his body as close as he could get. 

"Cuddle me," he demanded into the skin of Spock's neck. Jim felt the breath catch beneath his cheek, then resume its measured in-and-out. The hand of the arm not trapped under Jim worked its way between them, tucking himself back into his pants, but he did not bother fastening them, before hesitantly resting on Jim's elbow. The other hand curled around Jim's side, fingers flexing on his hip before relaxing. 

Jim wasn't sure how the whole touch telepathy thing worked. With so much skin-on-skin contact, he was sure Spock must be reading him like an open book, but if it went both ways he couldn't say for certain. Everything he was feeling he could claim as his own: anxiety over what had just happened, absolute contended satisfaction, a warm buzz of happiness, and hunger for more now that he'd had a taste. 

He attempted to settle his concern and bring blithe bliss to the forefront, projecting it, he hoped, to Spock.

He must have done something - he felt the low vibration of a hum through Spock's side.

"Sleep, James." 

He wanted to argue, but his eyes drifted closed and he fell into a warm, dreamless sleep. 

=//\\\=

Spock felt Jim awaken. His breathing changed from the even paced breaths that ghosted across his throat to something more erratic, a deep inhale and exhale, then stuttering as he became aware. Jim nuzzled, perhaps unconsciously, further into Spock’s side, rolling his hips against Spock’s thigh. His own hand flexed on Jim’s hip; though, he was unsure if he meant to hold Jim still or encourage the action. 

He was warm; drifting between light meditation and waking. He did not sleep while Jim had, he was too busy stewing in a marinade of panicked thoughts he had been attempting to wrestle into submission.

He’d had sex with his Captain.

He’d had sex with  _ Jim _ . 

On one hand, the sensation he identified as smugly content was shining very brightly in his consciousness; on the other, he was rather concerned over several things: their relationship moving forward, the ship,  _ regulations _ ... 

And, to top it all off,  _ he  _ had made the first move. Which, really, he had not intended. But Jim would not cease speaking and it seemed like a good idea at the time to silence his Captain with his own mouth. He had been right, of course, as he had been successful - Jim’s tirade had come to an abrupt halt with no signs of continuing while his tongue was otherwise occupied. Only, once Spock had received a taste of that mouth, and heard Jim respond, and felt Jim’s body beneath his hands, he really couldn’t help himself but to sample everything Jim offered like he was a buffet of sensations and delicious noises.

But Starfleet regulations and career-related consequences were a very real threat - if this, whatever this was that had happened or began to happen between them, would impact the running of the  _ Enterprise  _ in any way, there was the possibility that he would be forced to transfer or, worse, Jim would lose command of his ship. Spock did want to see that particular nightmare come to fruition, nor did he want to lose the only place he’d felt at home.

Yet, now that he had come to know Jim as a lover, knew how pliant he was, how responsive, knew of his breathless noises... he found he was disinclined to let that go. Could they pretend this never happened? Spock could not - did not want to. What would Jim prefer? Did he regret it - would he come to? 

He didn’t have time to see the resolution of the war inside him. Jim hauled himself up, sliding a leg over Spock so he was straddling his lap. He was unable to stop his own body from responding, arching up and grinding against him. 

Jim was beautiful, still soft with sleep, and he smiled down at Spock like there was nowhere he would rather be. The emotions bleeding through their contact confirmed this, penetrating Spock’s shields with the force of their intensity. He blinked, completely overtaken by the positive emotions pouring into him - so different than the ones he had been having moments before, now circling the proverbial drain and disappearing into non-existence. 

Spock reached and slid his hand into Jim’s hair, reveling in the languid joy radiating off of him; His eyes, though half-lidded, glittered in the low lamp lighting of the room. The twin moons hanging in the night sky outside the window painted one side of his face in creamy light, casting the other into relief. His hair was like silk through Spock’s fingers and he realized, his breath pausing in his chest, he missed out on this tender exploration earlier. 

"You're thinking too hard for the middle of the night," Jim whispered, leaning forward, his hands pressing into the pillows on either side of Spock’s head, "perhaps there's something we can do together to help remedy that," he slid their lips together. Jim’s breath escaped in a whoosh, shaking, when Spock licked up into his mouth, his other hand traveling feather-light up his back, his neck, and then down and across his shoulders. He pressed his fingertips into the bruises he had left on Jim’s collarbone. 

Jim moaned; Spock sighed. 

Then, Jim was departing - though he did not go far. His mouth sucked into the skin under Spock’s jaw; his tongue swirling patterns as he kissed his way down, fingers tugging at Spock’s wrinkled uniform until he half sat up, parting from Jim for only enough time and distance to pull it over his head and toss it aside. That tongue and those lips, entirely coquettish, hot and perfect, traveled across Spock’s skin like Jim was committing him to memory - perhaps he was. 

He let his hands tangle further into Jim’s hair as he continued to kiss down the plane of Spock’s abdomen - his muscles jumping under the light brush of fingertips that caught up with his mouth, overtook it, then continued to the hem of Spock’s pants. 

When his pants were pulled away, and Jim’s mouth engulfed him, the last of his worries fell away into nothingness. All he could feel were the pleased, reverential, contented emotions coming up in tangles from Jim wherever their skin met. He allowed his head to fall back into the pillows, and he stared up at the distant ceiling of the suite - the ornate carvings and golden paintings were shadowed by the night, their pictures swirling into nonsense as Spock lost himself to the sensations of Jim kitten-licking the head of his cock. 

Whatever happened after this, because of this, he would face boldly and one day at a time -  _ kaiidth _ . 

He felt himself relax; he felt sounds, perhaps words, pouring out past his lips and he closed his eyes and allowed whatever he needed to say to disappear into the open air above them. He was not sure if he was speaking in Vulcan or Standard, or even if what was leaving in one, long exhale was a cohesive thought at all. It didn’t matter. Jim’s mouth swallowed him down and that was the only thing he could perceive.

His toes curled, his hands fisted in Jim’s hair, and the wet heat suddenly ceased, Jim crawling back up to Spock’s face and claiming his mouth in a searing kiss. 

“I want you,” Jim said; his cheeks were flushed, lips wet. Spock leaned up to kiss him again, wrapping his arms around Jim’s back and rolling them. He kissed Jim until he turned his face, gasping for air, hands clutching at Spock’s shoulders, and crying out when Spock rocked their hips together. Spock reached to grab under both of Jim’s knees and hooking them over his elbows. 

Desire crashed through him like a torpedo, insistent. He craved Jim, to have him again. He rolled his hips, grinding his need against Jim, biting kisses in that tender spot below his ear. He'd already left a collection of bruises there earlier, and he mouthed over them, licking them, sucking them deeper into Jim's flesh. Jim offered up whispered encouragement, his hands running laps up and down Spock's back. The desperate lust burning in the back of his mind is nearly overwhelming. A low reverberation rose up from within his chest as he pressed Jim further into the mattress, rocking against him until Jim was arching to meet him, angling his hips to make it clear what it was he wanted. Spock shifted-

He hesitated, locking eyes with Jim who nodded, teeth sinking into his bottom lip. 

“James,” Spock said, “are you-”

“If you don’t fuck me right now, Spock, I swear on the ship’s nacells I will-”

Spock pressed inside, still slick from earlier, delighting in the way Jim’s mouth dropped open and his eyes fluttered shut; he writhed and Spock reveled. 

He took his time, setting a slow, even pace that made Jim claw at his back, urging him to move faster, deeper, harder. Spock disinclined, savouring the slide of their bodies the way he should have the first time. He missed this before: missed the way Jim’s knees hugged him, how his fingers dug trenches into Spock’s back, the way his voice, strangled and broken, called out his name. He missed the opportunity to draw back and observe the multitude of pleasure-fueled expressions that washed over Jim’s face.

Sweat beaded at Jim's temples and Spock bent forward to wet his lips with it. He pressed kisses across his brow, over each eyelid, the tip of Jim’s nose, his cheeks, his chin. He trailed his tongue up his jaw to his ear, sucking a lobe into his mouth. The sound that ripped from Jim's throat was erotic; a zing of pleasure arced through him and pooled at the base of his spine, curling there and growing in pressure. 

Jim’s hand snuck between them, gripping himself and pumping in time with Spock. He licked the shell of Jim’s ear, snapping his hips forward and humming delightedly as Jim released a punched-out groan. Spock released Jim’s knees so his hands were free to journey up his sides, fingertips buzzing as they passed over each rib. The texture of skin was something to marvel, to savour, and Spock did not want to take for granted the opportunity to map every inch of Jim beneath him. The feeling of Jim squeezing around him was secondary to the desire to explore every other detail of his body.

He wanted to learn every action and reaction, every sound he could create in the back of Jim’s throat with nothing more than his fingers, his tongue, or roll of his hips. He wanted to memorize every degree or Jim’s arched spine, how far he could wind him up like a spring. He wanted to be the cause of Jim’s stuttered breathing, flushed skin. He wanted to be responsible for every drop of sweat that beaded and slid - then he wanted to catch it on his tongue and taste the fruits of his labour. 

Jim’s ankles hooked together at the small of Spock’s back, hugging him close. 

Distantly, he was aware of his own pleasure mounting, surging towards the precipice; he would not last very long. He captured Jim’s mouth in a sloppy kiss, breathing in the high-pitched keen that Jim released. Jim's free hand tangled in Spock’s hair; heat rippled through him as Jim pulled, the hand between them quickening, desperate.

“Spock-” Jim choked, feet kicking at the tangle of sheets, heels digging into the mattress. He panted, every muscle in his body going taut, his legs stretched out, knees locking, and toes curling. Spock continued his steady, methodical pace and Jim came, hot between them, body quaking with the force of it. 

Spock swallowed Jim’s stuttered moan, his thrusts growing more shallow and erratic. His breath exhaled in a whoosh, biting down on Jim’s bottom lip as his own orgasm caught up with him. 

He held himself still above Jim; heart pounding in his side, until his rapid breath could be brought under control once more. Jim’s hands were rubbing up and down his arms and across his shoulders, a soothing gesture. Jim’s eyes were closed, but his mouth was pulled into a serene smile, face flushed and glowing in the pale light of the room. Spock rolled to his side, allowing his hands to drift to Jim’s temples, the consciousness beneath his fingers surging into his own awareness - not a meld, but their minds were reaching for each other. 

Jim’s hands found Spock’s and pressed them to Jim’s face in encouragement. 

Spock considered that he should likely be more concerned about the mess between them. However, when their minds joined and tangled together like their limbs in a desperate effort to pull the other closer, he could not be bothered to care. He sank into Jim’s mind, the chaos of it less of a disturbance and more of a comfort than he could have anticipated. 

“Sleep, Spock,” Jim’s voice rose up from lapping waves of comfort, contentedness, and so much love he was near drowning in it.

He could not fight such a logical suggestion, and he allowed himself to drift into the sea of it all, utterly relaxed. 

_ “I love you.”  _

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Catch me on Tumblr: une-pomm3  
> Or on Twitter: @unepomm3


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